Sleep With Me
by LittleMaryMacintosh13
Summary: Grantaire has a debt, and things go very, very wrong.
1. Chapter 1

**I recently took up a bit of a roleplay with a lady on Gmail and have created this little piece of gold! I'm revising it up a bit, and I hope you like it! Enjoy!**

Montparnasse was a ruthless thug of the streets. He held no remorse for his crimes, no matter the deed. He could steal a sous or kill a man. These actions brought him pure joy. He was a criminal through and through. Of course he fit right into the band of thieves, run by the Thenardiers. They were just as cruel and underhanded as he. Montparnasse nearly became like a son to the Thenardiers. He frequently slept with their attractive daughters Azelma and Eponine, as well.

He was not an unattractive man either. He was quite a wicked man, however he was capable of being charming. He could charm the pants off of any person in town, which made him quite the good crook. He could flip his personality at the drop of a hat. He avoided the police this way often. No one would ever suspect that dear Montparnasse, a truly good lad of the law and a _volunteer _at the Thenardiers' inn was a hardened criminal. Only the lower class people knew that, of course. And since the police had never caught him, they were none the wiser.

Blow after blow was sent to Grantaire's stomach as he hunched on the ground. Towering over him was Montparnasse, kicking and hitting him with his foot and cane. Of course, the heavy wooden cane with brass topper was something he had snatched from a dandy that morning. It was the perfect weapon, however, as he hit him relentlessly.

The drunk was coughing up blood by now, begging for the man to stop. He couldn't lift himself from the ground to retaliate in any way. When he had originally been cornered in the dark alley near the Musain, he had landed a few blows to the crook's mug before being beaten to the ground by Montparnasse's henchmen. Now he lay on the ground, moaning in agony as Montparnasse beat him senseless.

"Cough up those 1500 francs, now! Or else, we'll come back an' do much much worse..." Montparnasse growled, dragging Grantaire up by his hair and looking him in the eye.

"I don't have it!" Grantaire managed to say, his lungs aching. His chest hurt badly, and he imagined his ribs were either bruised or broken. If he got out of this alive, he would have to have Joly check them out.

"That's fine..." Montparnasse looked over his shoulder at a big thug who was easily 6'3'' and at least 300 pounds. Whispering something in his ear, the giant ran off in a different direction than the two.

"We'll just get it from that pretty friend o' yours... What was his name again? Enjolras?"

Grantaire froze in a panic. God, no. Not Enjolras. He had nothing to do with this. He was the one who had run up a tab at the Thenardiers' inn, not Enjolras.

"Wait!" He gasped and dug around in his pocket, extracting what little money he had. He had recently sold a painting for about 10 francs, and then borrowed about 12 sous from Combeferre that afternoon to purchase some paints. He deposited it into Montparnasse's greedy hands, waiting as the man counted out the money.

"Not enough. But it'll do. For now. I'll be back tomorrow. You better have that money by then!"

Montparnasse dropped the cynic on the cobblestone alley and walked off, beckoning to the other henchmen to follow.

Grantaire now lay in agony as they walked off. His ribcage was aching badly, and he felt the need to empty his stomach. So he rolled over and did so, coughing violently afterwards. But as he nearly collapsed into a nearby puddle of muck and god knows what, the Musain door opened not too far away.

Enjolras, his Apollo, stepped out and his eyes darted to the drunk in the alley.

"Really Grantaire, if you can't even make it home, why even bother leaving in the first place?" Enjolras huffed, coming into the alley. His footsteps slowed as he realized this was no mere drunken slip. "Are you alright?"

Grantaire managed to keep his eyes open as the blonde god approached fully, noticing that Grantaire was badly bruised.

"Be glad that Joly is still here..." Enjolras murmured softly, heaving Grantaire to his feet and back into the Musain. Immediately all eyes were on them, staring. Joly was out of his seat and examining the bruised man, a worried look on his face. After a few moments, he deemed him to be alright. Just a few bruised ribs at best, and most likely a black eye from when Montparnasse got him the first time.

"Take it easy for a few days, R. No need to overdo it. Get some rest."

"If I had a place to rest, I would." Grantaire mumbled, sighing. "Do you think they'd mind if I stayed in the backroom?"

"Preposterous, Grantaire." Enjolras spoke up with a sigh. "You can stay in my spare room, if you like. No need to burden the cafe owner." He scribbled something down on a piece of paper before getting up and collecting his things.

"Combeferre, would you mind helping Grantaire and I home?"

Combeferre nodded and got up, saying his goodbyes to the rest of the Amis. They were soon enough walking down the cobblestone paths that wound about the town.

Enjolras' apartment wasn't too far, and he wasn't that bad off at all. He constantly funneled money from his parents into the revolution efforts, but partially he had used such money to buy himself a nice enough apartment. It wasn't extravagant. Just enough for himself and a spare bedroom, however the bathroom was pretty extravagant. Enjolras liked to bathe in luxury. It was one thing he allowed himself to indulge in.

Combeferre dropped the two off now, tipping his hat to them and going his own way home. Enjolras helped Grantaire up the stairs, opening the door to the small sitting room. The room was dimly lit, and sparsely furnished, but it was packed with books. The shelves (there were several) were crammed with books. Textbooks, atlases, dictionaries, language books, biographies, novels, even a few storybooks and poetry. Enjolras was an avid reader, another thing he allowed himself to indulge in. He also had on display a series of pamphlets that he and the Amis had made since its creation.

Grantaire hadn't enough time to enjoy the looks of the room, for Enjolras was shuffling him into the spare bedroom. The room was bigger than the one he had rented previously, but it was still rather small. However, it was cozy, and big enough for Grantaire. The cynic fell into the soft bed and was soon fast asleep. He wouldn't have to worry about Montparnasse and money for the rest of the night.

The thought made him awaken, however. How would he gain the money he required? How would he keep himself from being beaten senseless over and over again? How would he keep Enjolras safe?

"How much do you owe, Grantaire?" Enjolras spoke from the doorway. Grantaire nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of him speaking, for he had forgotten the blonde was even in the room.

He was silent before murmuring quietly. "1500 francs." Grantaire didn't look at his leader, choosing to look at the sheets of the bed.

Enjolras extracted a wad of papers from his pocket, shelling out said amount of money. Grantaire wanted to scold him for carrying about that much money, but he said nothing.

"Take this. You will not get such a large tab in an establishment again, Grantaire. We need all of our men healthy for the revolution. No matter the amount of support, or lack thereof. Each member is important, we cannot have you bruised and bloody."

Grantaire nodded slowly, taking the wad of money offered to him. "Yes..."

"And to repay me for this, you will pass out pamphlets at the docks tomorrow. Yes? Your wakeup will be at seven, when Jehan and Courfeyrac arrive. Expect it."

Enjolras turned on his heels and walked out. Soon enough, the sound of running bathwater was prominent in the little apartment. Grantaire fell asleep imagining his Apollo's beautiful form in steaming bathwater and of the end of debt.


	2. Chapter 2

Grantaire awoke the next morning with an even worse ache in his sides. The bruised ribs he had been diagnosed with yesterday were even worse. And with that, his head ached. He needed a drink. Of course, would Enjolras have anything in his house? He had never seen the leader take more than a sip or two of wine, and that had only been...twice? Maybe not even that. Enjolras didn't drink. He didn't smoke. And he was undoubtedly a virgin. Nothing could taint this god, could it?

The source of the disturbance of his slumber was indeed the arrival of Courfeyrac and Jehan. The two bounded into the apartment like happy pups, singing and carrying on. Jehan was reciting poetry in a singing voice that was well-associated with birds chittering. Courfeyrac was humming a harmony along with it, their rhymes less than innocent.

Grantaire stumbled from the room now, his head pounding. The singing was doing nothing for his hangover as he managed to get himself to the kitchen. Searching through the cupboards found that Enjolras did own a fair share of wines, some that looked pretty expensive. Of course, he assumed these were things Enjolras had had as a teenager, passed down and just moved from one house to another. They were dusty, but Grantaire could care less as he popped a cork and guzzled down two glasses.

Enjolras emerged from his bedroom dressed and grumpy as usual. The leader was not a morning person, despite his strict schedule of getting up at the crack of dawn. Grantaire could never understand that.

"Ah, Grantaire. I knew I should have hidden those once you fell asleep." He commented as he walked in, but Grantaire only replied with a snort and a long sip of drink.

"Did I not say that they would be your wakeup call, Grantaire?" Enjolras smirked just the teensiest bit as he withdrew his papers from the night before. He wished to sit down with Courfeyrac and discuss these new plans. Of course, who knew if that would get done with both Jehan and Grantaire here.

"Yes, you did Apollo. Do I daresay you have a bit of a...knack for seeing into the future? You might want to be careful. They might accuse you of being a witch."

Grantaire leaned over to murmur into Jehan's ear. "And perhaps a god for such looks."

Jehan giggled in reply, which made both Enjolras and Courfeyrac give them raised eyebrows. The poet waved them off, whispering in reply.

"Thank the gods, have you seen his...assets?" Grantaire practically choked on his wine, glancing at said-body parts on his Apollo. Surely, he had a very nice form indeed.

"Amen to that."

The Leader and Center moved into the small office, murmuring about this and that. Jehan poured himself a glass of wine and swirled it about in the glass, nursing it gently in his palm.

Courfeyrac and Jehan did not leave until ten after one. They waved goodbye to Grantaire and Enjolras, linking hands now as they resumed their singing from that morning. During the meeting, Grantaire and Jehan had gone down to the docks and passed out the pamphlets, returning and finding the others still holed up in the office.

Now Grantaire lounged on the couch, nursing his own glass of wine. It was his seventh glass of wine so far, and he was beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol taking it's toll.

Enjolras was pulling his red jacket on now, his tricolor pinned firmly on the pocket.

"I should be back by three." Enjolras said over his shoulder, a thick stack of papers and pamphlets in his hand. "If you wish to bathe, there are clean towels in the bottom cabinet below the mirror."

Grantaire nodded, barely registering the sound of a door closing.

_Enjolras. Three o'clock. Got it._

Then Grantaire fell into a nice and hazy drunken sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

When Grantaire awoke, it was at the chiming of the clock. The hands were barely visible in his just-awakening state, but he made out the time well enough.

Four o'clock.

_Four o'clock_? Grantaire sat up, glancing about the apartment for the blonde headed leader. Upon further investigation, it was obvious that Enjolras had not yet returned.

This was uncommon for Enjolras. Extremely rare, actually. Enjolras was the type of person to show up early to a meeting and pronounce everyone who was on time to be late. The fact he had not shown up at the time he said would worried Grantaire to no end.

There was no doubt that something was indeed very wrong.

Montparnasse had been prowling the streets for new victims, scoping out the weak and the certainly wealthy. He was not an idiot, not in the slightest. Montparnasse knew that to pull off a heist or a robbery, you needed the perfect victim.

You had to be cunning, to be a crook. Montparnasse was intensely cunning, and he knew the perfect kind of person to prey upon. They couldn't be too big, they might be able to fight back. Women tended to scream loudly, so you should avoid them for the most part. And never underestimate a large person. They might look slow, but they could heave a lot of weight into one punch. It was the weak you had to prey upon. The drunks, the prostitutes, the sick. Those were the ones you targeted. It usually got little reward, but it paid off in the end.

Now, as Montparnasse tucked himself into the shadows of shady establishments, he saw a young gentleman walking about with a stack of pamphlets in his hand. The boy was quite attractive, and strangely familiar. It took Montparnasse a moment to realize that this was the man who ran the revolutionary group in the local cafe.

And he was also the man who attracted the attention of that drunk, Grantaire.

Stowing away into the shadows, Montparnasse crept up along the cobblestone alley to the blonde leader, who had just passed out a pamphlet to a woman and her daughter.

Montparnasse seized Enjolras, hand now clamped tightly around his mouth. The revolutionary was caught by surprised and it took him a moment before he started to struggle. At the age of twenty-two, Enjolras was moderately strong and a pretty good fighter. However, Montparnasse was better.

"Your little friend is late with his money, didja know that?"

Enjolras squirmed and wriggled, yelling something muffled from behind Montparnasse's large hand.

"Now you're going to pay. With your body."

Enjolras' eyes got to be the size of plates. What did he mean, _with his body?_

The revolutionary soon found out. The two henchmen had bound Enjolras' wrists with rope as Montparnasse shoved him to the wall. Quick hands that were skilled in tying and untying were on his cravat, tossing his clothing to the side. A wad of cloth was shoved in his mouth, expertly silencing his cries for help.

Fear coursed through him. He had never felt such intense fear as he fought for freedom from the ropes, and possibly for his life. The ropes would not give an inch and Enjolras felt hot tears of terror and frustration begin to collect in his eyes. He was truly terrified.

And then Montparnasse plunged in and Enjolras nearly blacked out. The pain was intense, and he screamed into the cloth. Being a virgin, it practically tore him apart as Montparnasse ruthlessly violated him in the cold alleyway.

After a period of time of Enjolras struggling against the bonds and the disgusting violation, he blacked out. He couldn't figure out if he ever wanted to wake up again.


	4. Chapter 4

The streets were empty.

Or so it seemed to Grantaire's eyes. He couldn't find any trace of the leader anywhere. He had first checked the Musain. Perhaps something had sidetracked him there, something important. But he was nowhere to be found. Grantaire then checked the local bookshop, the pub (sometimes Enjolras would pass out pamphlets there), the library, and even the docks (another place he passed out pamphlets).

Grantaire was about to give up hope. He had no idea where Enjolras was and it was sending him into a panic. Perhaps Enjolras had returned home while he was out? The cynic could only hope now for the best as he hurried back to the apartment. However, something attracted his attention. It was a scuffle in a darkening alleyway.

He couldn't do anything but stare. His love, his one hope, his Apollo... Montparnasse was violating him to the point where Enjolras was limp against the bricks of the building. Unconcious, most likely. Anger bubbled in the bottom of his stomach. It seemed like the crook hadn't yet noticed him as he drew out his pistol. However, his hand shook violently as the anger shot up his chest and out his mouth in a burst of rage.

"You bastard!"

The shot rang out as it hit a nearby wall, lodging itself in the stone there. Montparnasse's head shot up and Enjolras too seemed to wake from his unconcious state. This was the last thing Enjolras wanted Grantaire to witness. To see him violated like a cheap whore, blood and sexual fluids and sweat caking his legs. He felt disgusting.

Montparnasse only chuckled, jerking Enjolras up closer to him. The leader made a choked noise into the wad of cloth, shivering in disgust as Montparnasse's lips found Enjolras' neck and left marks there. This was the final straw for Grantaire. To mark such skin as Montparnasse's own, to defile him as nothing more than a prostitute... It sickened him. Enjolras was his beacon of hope, his god.

Charging forward, he shoved Montparnasse from Enjolras and took swing after swing at him. Montparnasse had no time to defend, for each time he went to retaliate, another fist came to his body with lightning speed. Finally, Montparnasse was down and out cold.

Grantaire finally turned to his Apollo, who had begun dressing. His entire body ached, especially his rear. It still bled a bit, and he was having trouble steadying himself to properly button his clothes. Grantaire moved to him, helping him with equally shaky hands. No words passed between the two. Enjolras was too ashamed to speak for now. He knew that Grantaire believed in him and solely him, so for the cynic to see him like this almost killed Enjolras.

_You believe in nothing, Grantaire. _

_Ah, Apollo, that isn't true. Not at all._

_Well what do you believe in then?_

_I believe in you._

Enjolras had been mulling over those words in his mind as they walked home. He limped the entire way, but Grantaire did not dare help him. Enjolras had a sort of pride, and Grantaire knew that helping him would only make Enjolras feel weak. And the best thing for Enjolras at the moment was to feel strong.

"Thank you."

Grantaire looked up in surprise as Enjolras entered the house. Had he really just heard that?

"I might've been dead, if you hadn't come looking for me. I appreciate the effort."

Enjolras limped into the apartment, barely making it up the stairs and to the bathroom door. Grantaire looked quite shocked, however he nodded his head slowly and murmured a response.

"Of course. That revolution still needs its leader, after all."

And at that, Enjolras smiled just a bit. It didn't reach his eyes, but he did smile. It was true, Enjolras knew. His revolution needed him. That is why whatever higher power there was (or if there was one at all) had let him live. He needed to lead his revolution to victory or at least die trying. That was his purpose in life. Just as Courfeyrac's was to comfort the people and Jehan's was to write poetry and be friendly, Enjolras' purpose was revolution.

This thought lifted his spirits a bit, though not by a lot. Filling the bathtub with hot water, he sunk into it with a wince. It hurt to sit, but the water felt nice. Soon enough he was able to forget about the stinging he felt and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the bathwater was tinted pink. It was then that he began scrubbing.

He had found the roughest rag he could find and began scrubbing off the grime from between his legs. When he shifted, he felt it. He felt Montparnasse _inside _of him. He had spilled relentlessly inside of Enjolras and being a virgin, Enjolras hadn't realized that such liquids would remain there until he removed it himself. So he began to clean himself out, and the pain made tears leak once more. It was almost more than he could bear. Frustration welled up as he resumed his scrubbing, the blood and semen caked on wouldn't come off. It was beneath his fingernails too and no matter how hard he scrubbed, it wouldn't come out.

And so Enjolras, the fearless leader, curled up and cried. He had never felt so disgusting and never felt so weak. It was as if Montparnasse had taken all his hopes and dreams and pride, and he had ripped it to shreds.

This was what Montparnasse enjoyed most about being a crook. Even after the deed was done, he remained in his victims' minds. Making them relive it over and over and over again...

Indeed, that's what happened. Enjolras would never forget that night for as long as he would live.

**Okay yeah so I wrote this chapter without internet. And so I have no idea about bathtubs back then. Don't hurt me if I got it all wrong. I'm trying my best guys! **


End file.
